The Life and Times of Fancy and Fleur
by Honey Mead
Summary: Random one-shots that revolve around Fancypants and Fleur de Lis. These are a collection of stories focusing on one, the other, or both characters. These stories are not necessarily connected, and they appear in no particular order. Read, enjoy, comment, and favorite. (Teen for potential adult themes.)
1. Pink Beard and the (RomanceComedy)

**Pink Beard and The Dread Pirate Lilies**

There was nothing quite like captaining ones own dirigible. Akin to standing on the top of the world, little could match the sense of power and majesty of it. Indeed, the only thing missing was somepony to share it with.

Fancypants refused to lament his current lack for companionship. It had been a choice after all. There were more than a few ponies who would have been overjoyed to join him, even a number who could have helped tend the craft. The one he'd wished to have along, however, had other engagements.

Putting the wind to his back and locking the wheel, he moved from the helm to relax on the main deck. It was a beautiful day and he was not going to see it wasted.

He'd just gotten comfortable on his lawn chair when a violent explosion sounded off the port side. With a less than dignified shout, Fancypants fell out of the chair and rolled across the wooden deck. Sputtering in confusion, he did not believe his eyes. A veritable blizzard of brightly colored streamers and confetti coated himself and the entire port side of the ship. The sight that followed did little to improve his compression.

Off to port the most absurd craft he'd ever seen waffled from side-to-side. Little more than a frame of blue bars, the craft could best be described as rickety. A single large propeller whacked noisily through the air, powered only by the furious peddling of its two occupants. Most distressing was the oversized blue cannon mounted on its side.

His monocle dropped as he recognized the ponies in question. The first was a pony he knew only in passing. Pink from head to hoof, she wore an eye patch with a stripped vest under a black jacket and a gold trimmed tri-fold hat. The second, and far more familiar, was a mare his own age wearing a similar get up only without the hat and a hook gripped in her hoof instead of the eye patch.

Before he could venture a statement, the first mare spoke up in an obviously over done voice. "Arg, yeah scurvy dog. I be ca'pin Pink Beard and this be The Dread Pirate Lilies. We be commandeering this here schooner."

Fancypants' couldn't but admire the second mare, barely registering the words being spoken. Once his turn to talk came, however, he smiled. "Not the dreaded Pink Beard? Scourge of the high winds? I must say, I always imagined you'd be slightly more pronounced in the beard department."

"Oh shoot! I knew I forgot something!" Pinkie said, completely dropping character.

Smiling devilishly, Fancypants continued, "I doubt that two lone mares will be able to part me from my ship, no matter how lovely they may be."

The Dread Pirate Lilies made a graceful leap from the flying contraption to land barely a length from the stallion. A raw intensity burned behind her half lidded eyes as she stalked closer. "No? Your confidence shall be your undoing, for I know your greatest weakness." Her last word saw her but a breath away. "Surrender now, for I shall not hesitate to use it."

"Do your wor-"

His words were cut off as a pair of lips latched desperately onto his. Before he knew it he was being pushed back toward the cabin, Fleur not letting up for a second.

Pinkie giggled when the door slammed shut behind them. One Hearts and Hooves couple down, how many more to go? Her legs pumped furiously as she veered off toward Ponyville, hoping the next few wouldn't need so much peddling.


	2. Anniversaries (Adventure)

**Anniversaries**

Fancypants turned his head to the side, his cheek pressing into Fleur's. "Well, my love, this is a rather fine mess we've gotten ourselves into."

Fleur responded by kissing him with the side of her mouth. "Oui, but I forgive you. "

"Forgive me? I fail to see how this is my fault."

"It was your idea to take zis trip, no?"

"Well, yes. The stopover in Vanhoover, however, was all you, dear."

"I am not ze one w'o 'ad to 'ave zat painting of ze princess!"

"You're the one who had to nag me all the way back to the hotel, advertising to the entire city that we had it!"

Before things could escalate further, a hoof crashed against the airship's deck. Connected to said hoof was a pegasus dressed in what could only be called a crime against fashion. To make it worse, he was surrounded by a gang of similarly dressed ponies.

"Not to interrupt this scene of domestic bliss, but I'm on something of a schedule."

Fancypants turned to his left. "Oh, right. Quite sorry about that, chap."

"No trouble at all. If you wouldn't mind." With the sword in his hoof, he motioned to the wooden plank the two nobles currently occupied.

Fleur joined her husband in looking at the pirate, once again placing their cheeks together. "I'm so embarrassed zat you 'ad to see zat. We normally get along so well."

"I don't care if you're like peas in a pod. Just so long as you finish walking the plank!"

"I told you he'd never take the bait."

"W'at is zis world coming to? 'As nobody a sense of dramatics anymore?"

Fancypants shrugged, and much to the pirates' shock, the ropes binding the couple back-to-back flopped to the deck.

"Well? What happened next?"

"We apprehended mr. Swashbuckle and his cohorts and escorted them back to Canterlot to face the Princess' justice."

Rainbow Dash waited impatiently for more details, eventually cracking. "That's it? What about the fight?"

"My dear Dash, one dust up is much like the next. Now our third anniversary-"

"Fourth, " Fleur interrupted from her seat beside Fancypants. "Zat was our third."

"Really? I thought our fourth was the Marelantians and that business with the volcano and the mad scientist."

"No, zat was our sixth."

"No, no, I quite remember our sixth being that little misunderstanding with the griffins. That was the first year I wore my monocle."

Rainbow Dash said nothing as the couple continued to bicker back and forth. Her mind simply could not track them. Each time one spoke, a new morsel of action or adventure would be casually dropped as though it held no importance.

Finally, Fancypants took notice of the flabbergasted mare and hushed his wife. "I apologize, we appear to have gotten off track. What was it that you wished to know?"

Dash took a second to collect herself. "Uh, yeah. Rarity said I should ask you about your job."

Fancypants smiled. "Why, I'm an author."

Dash's head twisted to the side. "An author?"

"Quite. Perhaps you've read some of my work. My personal favorite is 'Daring Do and the Mange Mane'."


	3. Night Terrors Foreboding

Fancy Pants blinked, tired, bleary eyes struggling to absorb what light they could in the darkness, even the canopy's royal blue turned to shadow overhead. Moonlight trickled in through the balcony blinds, shining off the polished edges of bookshelves, dressers, and wardrobes, hiding more than it revealed. The clock ticking incessantly upon his nightstand served to establish the lateness of the hour, only halfway to dawn.

He closed his eyes again, hoping the simple action would be enough to forestall the building pressure of consciousness against his senses. Nights like these were the worst, falling asleep only to be roused again and again before ever reaching the invigorating depths of restful sleep, where every minute of repose was hounded by four of ceaseless, meandering thoughts, grinding against the same inescapable, pointless musings. After all he'd been through, another sleepless night was the last thing he needed.

Ten seconds later he rolled over again, unable to find even the most basic levels of comfort, each pose as grating and untenable as the last. A groan escaped his lips and he buried his head into his pillow, inhaling the soft musk of down. All he wanted– needed– were a few solid hours of sleep, just enough to make the day bearable, enough to manage the inevitable problems, those minor bumps that must be dealt with the moment they arise, just enough to weather through all the inane facets of daily life without drowning himself in coffee.

He reached out, his hooves searching for the mare with whom he'd shared his life for the past three years. The intoxicating mixture of lilacs and the natural musk of her mane was usually enough to banish whatever foul antagonist plagued his thoughts, granting him the restful sleep he so desired.

He came up empty, his hooves finding nothing but air, with only the faintest hint of warmth to show that another pony had once occupied the space. Opening his eyes only confirmed what he already knew. His flower was gone, her sheets thrown aside as she'd fled their bed in haste, abandoning him to face the night alone.

The awareness from which he'd fled came rushing back in a tsunami, scouring away all traces of sleep more thoroughly than any amount of sleep. He sat up in a panic, ears perked and eyes wide, swallowing the whole apartment at once. The eerie shine of the moon's half-light created false shadows to fool his eyes, they danced and played, mocking his failure to pierce them and reveal their secrets.

Making to call out to her, his beloved, the words wilted into a harsh breath, scorched and stolen by a sharp gasp from the washroom.

He crossed the room in an instant, leaping from the bed, his hooves clattering loudly despite the soft rugs covering the floor. The washroom door buckled under his weight, its wooden frame cracking and giving way as he shouldered through without a second thought to try the handle.

He found her there, curled up in their brass bathtub. Fear pierced eyes looked up at him, only to dismiss him entirely as the dull terror that she'd tried to hide from him swept her away, casting her back into the horror that gripped her heart. Vibrant and crimson, Blood dripped from the forehoof clenched tightly between her teeth to muffle her own cries as she cowered: quaking.

Some stallions might have hesitated, paused in uncertainty at finding their wife in such a state. They might have called out in confusion, hoping to be reassured that all was well, that the sight before them was an illusion, unwilling to act.

Fancy Pants was not some stallions.

His magic engulfed her, drawing her from the tub; only for Fleur to panic, screaming and flailing at unseen attackers. Fancy weathered the blows, letting them land as they would until he had her cradled in a tight embrace, whispering words of love and comfort into her ear. She did not respond at first, but slowly, like the changing of seasons, her struggles waned, her muscles relaxed, and her shuddering breaths evened out.

He held her there, curled up on the bathroom floor, until she sank against his chest, the terror ebbing from her visage. He held her until the last of her tears were dry against his coat. He held her until the servants arrived an hour after dawn, confused and frightened by their master's and mistress' state. He held her until her eyes fluttered open to find his own, the terror skulking, waiting, in their unseen recesses. He held her until the second wave of tears finally ended and she fell asleep once more. He held her until he was sure that she would be okay, and then he clung to her for dear life.


End file.
